


End of the Line

by Write_like_an_American



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Marvel, Marvel Comics - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Porn for me, Porn for you, Shameless phonesex smut, T.O. porn, plenty o'porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:00:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Write_like_an_American/pseuds/Write_like_an_American
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phonesex, with added Telekinesis. I honestly don't know what else to say about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Alrighty then. Seeing as I haven’t gotten the next Spideypool chapter up yet (a thousand apologies; dishonour on me, dishonour on my cow. I’m still revising furiously for my exams, and my brother’s quite badly ill so I’m having to look after him too. I’ll get it finished as soon as possible!) here’s some of my old work to keep you going. Warning: shameless pwp ahead.**
> 
>  
> 
> **This has already been uploaded in full on one of the kink memes – I can’t remember which. I’m hoping not too many of you will have read it!**
> 
>  
> 
> Apologies for the slightly-worse-than-usual writing. This is relatively old work. And as for the tobasco sauce… Well, it made sense at the time.

Wade twiddles the phone cord between his fingers as if it is a long, flexible and overall unwieldy knife. It slips in and out, wrapping around his index and tightening until the scarred flesh bulges and fades to white, and Wade is so focussed on the rising sensation of numbness he nearly misses the moment when the dialling tone turns to rings and Cable picks up on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?” Wade’s insides give a little shiver. What? It isn’t his fault Nathan has such an awesome voice, is it? All deep, and kinda reverberate-y. It’s like sitting on a subwoofer. 

“Howdy,” he answers, trying for a sexy purr. It comes out more menacing growl, but hey, it’s the thought that counts, right? Nate’s doesn’t seem to care. He just sniffs down the line, annoyance lacing the resulting crackle of static, and Wade can imagine his scowl. 

“Who is this calling, please? I’m in the middle of a meeting, and-“ 

“S’me,” Wade says, and then, because Nathan Summers is an idiot above all else, he quickly clarifies. “Deadpool.” 

“Ah, _Wade._ ” He can hear Nate’s bemused sigh. “Look, I appreciate you calling me, but I really am rather busy right now. I’ll… see you tonight, all right? That Mexican place in New York you like so much. I’ll pay.” Tempting, certainly, but Wade started this with purpose in mind and he is not to be dissuaded by a little forbidden fruit. Or not-so-forbidden, as he hasn’t been banned from that particular establishment (yet), and he and Nate have been nurturing their on-again, off-again, possible relationship… _thing…_ for almost a year now. The forbidden fruit is gonna taste of Mexican and metal, and abs that could make a damsel-in-distress faint on the spot, and gosh, there’s no wonder that fig-leaf chick took a bite, even if was being pitched to her by Shir Khan’s slimy little buddy… 

Wade raps on the side of his head, impatiently. He hates it when metaphors run away from him, but they do have annoying tendency to do just that - like that time when he’d been telling Nathan how llamas were actually reincarnated gods to make a point about humility and the general epicness of llamas, but had lost track halfway through and begun lecturing on why there were always more yucky yellow starbursts in a pack than red, which were his favourites for the obvious reason… and what was he talking about, again? 

Oh yes. Phone sex. 

“Ah, ah, ah, Mr Summers!” He even adds in a finger wag, although he’s pretty certain Nate couldn’t see it. Only ‘pretty certain’, because this is Nate; controlling boyfriend extraordinaire; and bugging his flat is actualy a step _down_ from the whole getting-in-his-mind-and-making-him-see-dead-people thing. “We’re doing this old school, alright? What are you wearing?” 

He doesn’t need to bug Nathan’s office to see him blinking in confusion. 

“Wade, I fail to see the purpose of this… but for your information, I am wearing a shirt and a pair of trousers. Fairly standard wear for this century, Irene assures me.” 

Wade shakes his head vehemently, almost dislodging his wig in the process. 

“No! Nonononono. That’s not how you do this, Nathan… you’ve got to add a little more _detail_!” 

“I’m not sure I understand.” Nathan sounds tired, and Wade can see him in his mind’s ever-wandering eye, sitting in a room of important political delegates and diplomats and trying to feign interest in this conversation. He feels a sudden burst of happiness. After all, most people would have hung up the moment he introduced himself, but Nate… Nate is _trying_. Wade shifts about on the sofa, trying to find a more comfortable position wherein lace won’t scratch his thighs; discovers it is a futile endeavour; gives up; and smirks to himself. Oh, he’ll make this worth Nathan’s while, alright. Just as soon as he teaches the oversized kahoona how to play along. 

“Look… okay, let’s do this another way, huh? Ask me.” 

“What?” 

“The names of the fifty presidents in reverse alphabetical order, tweedledum, what do you think?” 

Nathan sighs again. The sound is very well-rehearsed by now. 

“Alright, Wade. What are you wearing?” 

For a second, Wade basks in his victory. Then he launches into the full tirade, checking down himself to make sure he doesn’t forget anything on the way. 

“Okay, so let’s start at the top! Yanno those cute little French maid dresses they wear in all the animes when they’re trying to pretend to be Brits? Although it never really works, because duh, Japanese accents. I have _gotta_ introduce you to Engrish one o’these days, Priscilla… there’s nothing more funny than watching all these fops in top-hats and monocles prancing around and saying ‘herro’ to each other! But, uh, some other time, p’raps. Anyway, I’ve got one of ‘em. It’s all black and pleather-y and”- he shifted again. The dress creaked, alarmingly. “-barely down to mid-thigh. I think I flashed myself when I put it on, that’s how short it is. Least now I can admire my ass as well as you can - if I twist around far enough. Channel my inner strong-female-character. 

_”Anyway_. I found it at the market today and everyone kept giving me really weird looks - probably because I’d set my face to that David Attenborough fellow from those cruddy nature programmes where they just look at the animals and don’t shoot anything, but hey. S’all cute and frilly. _Fucking_ frilly, Nate; I mean you would not believe the amount of frills they’ve packed into this dress. One very tiny dress. Seriously. I think it was made for a chick, so it’s kinda hard to breathe right now. I sure hope you appreciate me sitting here all breathless and wanton and other appropriately fanfiction-friendly words - I’ve gone to a helluva lot of effort here. I even bought stockings. Tartan ones, which don’t really go with the dress but they were just too cute to leave; sitting there all alone and unloved on this stall that was run by a creepy old lady who probably stole them from orphans or something, and really you couldn’t expect me to leave them with somebody like that, could you? She’d prob’bly do all kinds of nasty kinky stuff with ‘em if nobody stole - I mean, legally procured, them; of course. Kinkier than putting them on just to give your boyfriend the best phonesex of his life. 

”So, here I am. Sat on my sofa. In a miniature maid outfit that was made for petite elf maidens and _stockings_ , for your pleasure.” 

There is a brief silence, during which Wade supposes Nathan’s brain must have melted from the sheer, sexy awesomeness of his description. Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way could suck it. The silence grows a little longer. Nathan’s brain should have repaired itself by now, but maybe being from a long-time-ahead in a galaxy not-so-far away means those two little innocuous words; ‘phone’ and ‘sex’; don’t mean that much when shoved together. Well, he isn’t above giving the poor guy a hand. 

“What would you like to do to me?” he prompts, hopefully. 

There’s a short intake of air that crackles with static, and Wade pictures the glowing, tomato-esque blush that is surely spreading across his boyfriend’s cheeks right now with sadistic glee. 

“Wade… “ Nathan’s voice has dropped to an urgent whisper. “I’m getting a very strange look from Mr. Putin. And why are you telling me about this? I said I’ll see you tonight. You can show me in person. I could even postpone this meeting and bodyslide over to where you are right now, if you want. Why the phone?” Wade pouts. 

“Because it makes it more _fun,_ of course! Look but don’t touch, and all that. Or, imagine but don’t touch. I was painting you a vivid picture of my humble person, so you could ruminate on all these bloody frills as you undress me in your head.” 

Another gasp, and then a rumbly chuckle that makes his stomach do some strange flippy-floppy somersaults up his throat. He guesses he could blame it on that taco-eating contest (when your lard-ass of a clone challenges you to an eating contest in front of two very attractive ladies, you have no choice but to defend your honour). 

“Well, it was definitely vivid. Thank you, Wade. I appreciate this, I really do. I would just appreciate it a little more if it could wait until after this meeting…” 

Wade’s stomach settles. In fact, it feels like it’s dropped out of him entirely - it hasn’t. He checks; and thank god, because that would have made a nasty stain - leaving only an empty, gaping hole in its wake. Of course he was interrupting something. Of course he was distracting Nathan from good, honest work that would save good, honest people from a lifetime of slavery and oppression and overpriced taco bell, and other-such evils of the world that needed to be vanquished For The Greater Good. Isn’t that what he was best at? Screwing things up? Deadpool the idiot. Deadpool the annoying little motormouth who everybody tries to kill, but nobody’s quite managed to make it permanent yet. It shouldn’t be a surprising revelation, that Nathan would put his worklife before him. But somehow it is and Wade feels his hands clench into the pretty, tight little maid’s dress without his consent, hard enough to tear. 

“Oh,” he says in a small voice. “Okay.” He hangs up before Nathan can apologise, and immediately begins yanking at the fastenings on his outfit- a billion stupid little eye-pins that had taken forever to do up. He’s angry enough that he doesn’t stop, even when they start to rip off and clatter on the floor. By the time the phone rings again, he’s sitting on the sofa with the dress hanging open down the back and a handful of little metal loops, trying to tell himself that the blurriness in his eyes is just from lack of sleep. (He’d had to get up at six to go to that market. _Six._ For a man who, on a non-work day, hours didn’t exist before nine, that had been quite the feat.) 

_Brrp, brrp_ it goes, vibrating its way over the tabletop. Wade eyes it suspiciously. Nathan has probably gone back to his dumb meeting by now, not that he cares, so it’s most likely Hayden with a new job. The mercenary doesn’t really feel up to conversing with that smarmy lump of grease when there is nothing squishy in the vicinity for him to eviscerate in his stead. 

_Brrp, brrp_ , buzzes the phone again.

Wade fidgets. One more set of rings and it will go to his voicemail - _Hey there, it’s me, Deadpool! Also known as the merc-with-the-mouth, or the regenerating degenerate, or “bub” if I’m doing a team-up with Wolvie – just not ninja spiderman. Call me ninja spiderman and I will cut you. I mean, he’s a total pussy, and like, twelve, which really begs the question of why on earth people ever started shipping me with him… anyhoo. Now, apparently I have to be a little low-key about this, so, uh, how can I put this? You give me money. I stabbity-stab who you want me to stabbity-stab. We all go home happy. Capice? Okay. So. I’m not here at the moment, which probably means I’m off stabbity-stabbing someone else, so just, uh, leave me a message after the beep! I’ll get back to you if I remember. Beep!_

_Brrp-_

Wade makes a split-second decision and grabs it. 

“Wilson,” he mutters grouchily. “Whaddyou want?” 

“Hello, Wade,” Nathan says. _Oh._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **In which sexy-times happen, and Nathan puts his powers to the best possible use.**

“Why are you calling me again?” Wade whinges, plucking forlornly at the tattered skirt. “I’ve just killed the dress!” 

“You have?” Nathan sounds oddly… disappointed. “Well, I’ve excused myself from the meeting. We can, uh, talk now. If you still want to.” 

Anyone else, and Wade would claim not to be in the mood. He would hang up and leave them to stew in their own regret for missing out on such a fabulous opportunity to imagine undressing him. But this is Nate, and as always, he’d had him at ‘hello’. 

“Of course I want to! But, uh, the dress…” 

“How killed is killed?” asks Nathan smoothly. That little internal shiver starts up again, and Wade stutters for a moment before answering - 

“Uh, it’s all torn up the back. All the fastenings have come out, and I think I’ve ripped up the skirt a bit too-“ 

“Torn up the back?” He can hear the smile in Nathan’s voice now; slow and predatory; and the shiver worms its way deeper into his gut. “Does that mean I can see your back? The curve of your spine, your shoulders, those dark dimples on the small that always make you wriggle about when I kiss them?” Oh. _Oh._ Perhaps Nathan isn’t so unknowing about phonesex, after all. “Can I see your panties, Wade? You are wearing panties, aren’t you? It’s not like you to not go the whole hog on a costume-“ 

“Of course I am!” snaps Wade, and attempts to lower his heart rate back to the normal one-eighty. He can feel the offending items rub whenever he shifts - matching lace; they came with the dress and they’re tight too. They’ve already ruckled up, winding themselves up tight to rub him the whole way from his crack to the bulge of his half-hard cock, and the strain of it just makes the pressure worse. “Uh- don’t stop talking though, Nate. Don’t you dare.” 

Nate doesn’t. 

“Do you want to know what I would do to you, Wade, if I were with you right now?” His voice has become a deep husk just on the right side of intelligible, and Wade finds himself squirming back against the pillows as he gasps out - “yes!” They feel cool against his bare shoulderblades, and Wade closes his eyes and let’s himself pretend that his own wandering hands belong to Nathan as the game continues. 

“I’d start at your neck,” Nathan whispers. He sounds like he’s smiling again, and Wade’s glad that he’s enjoying this too, although that thought loses all coherency when the mutant messiah casually adds - “I’d bite it. Hard. Maybe hard enough to draw blood, because I know how you love to feel my mark on you.” Wade pinches himself; makes himself believe that the fingernails scraping along his raw skin are incisors, and arches into his own touch with a soft moan. 

“Keep going,” he begs. His eyelids are squeezed shut and in the darkness behind them, Nathan’s voice seems to be amplified a thousand times. The whole world has narrowed down to the slow, measured growl of it; the feel of Wade’s scarred palms smoothing over his skin. The ‘bite’ on his neck is fading already, so he renews it and imagines Nate’s hands in all their detail; the soft skin in-between gun-calluses, the cool evenness of the T.O. They’d be firm with him, not gentle because Nathan knows how much Wade can take. When Nathan’s rumbles that he’d slide his hands down Wade’s back, peeling away the remains of the dress like a child reverently opening their gifts on Christmas Day and kissing whatever new flesh he uncovered, Wade whines breathily and palms himself to the rhythm of the words. “God Nate, keep talking… this is so hot. Like, Bea-Arthur-meets-the-Olsen-twins-with-added-nutella hot. I can feel ya touching me, and it’s so good, _so good,_ just keep talking, please…” Nathan’s used to him rambling on through sex. He doesn’t even pause. 

“The first finger I push inside of you is metal,” he says. Wade obediently tugs away the panties, and if the scrape of lace on his oversensitised flesh is too much to bear the finger that follows it - not as thick or as cold as Nathan’s T.O. ones, but big enough to cause discomfort and start him moaning again - is agony. “I tease it up inside you, just fucking your rim with it, until you beg me for more-“ Wade holds out for an embarrassingly short amount of time, squeezing the phone to his ear in a deathgrip whilst he stretches around behind him and plays with himself. He’s never been quite so thankful for his flexibility as he is now. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and he’s fighting every urge in his body not to impale himself down onto his hand, but Nathan hasn’t said anything else yet and belatedly Wade remembers that he’s supposed to be begging out loud, not just in his head. 

“Nate, more, I-I need more, please Nate, please…” 

“Good boy,” Nathan intones quietly. “Okay. I feed you another finger, slicking it up with lube first-“ he doesn’t have any close to hand, so Wade removes his hand, spits on it, then replaces it again, jostling his middle in alongside the first. It’s nearly enough to reach his prostate, and if he could just thrust deeper, just a bit deeper- “You begged for me so prettily, so I give you what you want. What you need. I shove them in up to the knuckle and twist. You’re speared, and your tight little arsehole clenches around me, pleading me for more, so I add in another one and curl it on the upstroke.” The words come in a lurid torrent of pleasure, faster and faster. Sitting on three fingers now, Wade does as he is commanded and finds that bundle of nerves in seconds. White hot flashes obscure his vision. His cock thuds into his belly, sticky with precum, and he spreads his legs almost painfully wide, stockings sliding down to half-mast. “ _Oh!_ I-I-“ 

“That’s it, Wade.” Nathan sounds pleased with himself. His soft drawl is like audible molasses, and Wade grounds himself in it, focussing only on the syllables sliding over Nate’s tongue and the answering roll of his hips. “You’re doing so well. So very well, Wade. Now, I have you right where I want you. You’re panting and fucking yourself back onto my hand-“ and he is, pistoning up and down desperately onto the digits until it feels like the bones are creaking under his weight “-and I reach round to your front, hiking up your skirts and running my other hand over your erection.” Wade’s orgasm is lurking just over the horizon. It’s shooting towards him with all the inevitability of an oncoming freight train, and he stokes the engine with every rapid, un-coordinated jerk. 

“God yes, Priscilla, just like that, fuck me…” 

“-But I don’t want you to come just yet.” 

Wade’s hand stops before the words have even registered in his brain, sliding to the base and squeezing just enough to hold him caught between wanting to shy away from the pulsing pressure and bucking up for more. The train’s breaks squeeze. It rattles to a near-stop a few hundred metres away; still moving towards him but slowly, far too slowly, and he’s not sure his sanity can hold out for that long. Everything is fuzzy and damp, his arse stretched and wet with spit and his fist streaked with precum. He whimpers, wriggling back against the intruding fingers. Nathan’s breathing is heavy and fast in his ear; percussion beats; staccato. He imagines the big mutant unzipping his suit-pants in a bathroom somewhere secluded on Providence, stroking himself along to Wade’s shameless noises of pleasure, and the thought is vibrant enough to have him grinding down onto his hand once more. 

“Nathan?” He asks, and the way he has to fight to find air to form the word with really shouldn’t excite him as much as it does. 

From the other end of the line, there’s an ominous silence, and not even Queen Priscilla of Providence is enough of a bastard to leave him hanging after a build up like that, so Wade just waits it out, each throb of his cock more desperate than the last. 

It’s worth it, though. It’s definitely worth the wait, because the next moment there’s _something else_ running up and over his body, something feather-light and gentle, as if being stroked by a thousand fingers all at once, and Wade knows that if he opens his eyes he’ll see ] blue. Nathan’s telekinetic touch starts at his collarbone and works its way down. The dress is completely pulled away to reveal lithe muscle, littered with the sensitive ridges of his scars. It leaves a fluttering electrostatic tingle behind it, and that alone would be enough to make up for the serious case of blue-balls he has going on right now - but then the phantom touch dips below his belly-button and Wade can feel Nate’s lips gently parting on the head of his dick. It shouldn’t be possible to be any more turned on, but apparently it is because suddenly there’s another mouth; another tongue; this one flicking deftly over his perineum, and Wade’s fingers are coaxed out only to be replaced by a thick, blue shaft of nothingness that thrusts up into him in even strokes. “That’s… cheating…” Wade manages to huff out. He feels Nate’s chuckle more than he hears it. 

“Are you complaining?” he asks, somewhat incredulously. Damn, the man’s a good multitasker. Even Wade’s finding it difficult to string together sentences under this kind of sexual duress. Still, he does his best. 

“ _Do I sound… like I’m c-complaining??_ ” 

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then, shall I?” 

Then Nate does something incredibly wicked with his telekenisis; wrapping it around Wade’s prostate and setting up a miniature barrage against it that makes his thighs quake and his hips twitch frantically down the T.K. throat. When a quiet growl informs him that he can come now, if he wants to, Wade practically shrieks and releases messily all over his stomach and the couch. 

_Al ain’t gonna be happy about that,_ he thinks to himself, and then, because that’s a pretty shit thought to interrupt your hazy afterglow; _I just had phonesex with Nathan. And telekinetic sex too. Sure, it deviated a bit from the original prompt, and I didn’t fit in the tobasco sauce, but you can’t have everything, and it was totally awesome._

_And there’s always a next time._

After all, hadn’t Nate said something about coming over tonight? They could try out the tobasco sauce thing in person. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **La Fini. :3 Comments and Kudos may encourage me to write a tobasco-sauce themed sequel, (after I've finished Gotta Fly Now, of course!). But although it might not say 'External Use Only' on the bottle, I'm fairly sure it was never intended for the purpose I'm thinking of. *dirty-snickers***


End file.
